Resemblance
by Katinka31
Summary: Written for the Phryne Ficathon, for the prompt: Phryne meets Jack's family for the first time. It can be an accidental meeting or planned. Takes place between S3E3 ("Murder and Mozzarella") and S3E4 ("Blood and Money").


Resemblance

By Katinka31

 _Written for the Phryne Ficathon, for the p_ _rompt: Phryne meets Jack's family for the first time. It can be an accidental meeting or planned._

 _Takes place between S3E3 ("Murder and Mozzarella") and S3E4 ("Blood and Money")._

With a smile teasing her lips, Phryne Fisher lifted a tumbler of whiskey, leaned back in what had to be the most uncomfortable chair City South possessed, and watched the sight across from her with an appreciative eye. Jack Robinson was raising his own glass, and, in a rare moment of relaxation at the end of his shift, was even resting his well-worn brown oxfords atop the one free corner of his desk. The lines of his face were as chiseled as ever, but seemed softened with an ease that had been missing for several weeks.

Seven days had now passed since the arrest of Roberto Salvatore, and the case against the gangster was progressing exceedingly well. Papa Antonio was keeping to the enforced truce, and once Salvatore's duplicity became widely known, witnesses could come forward without fear (as the growing stack of testimonies on Jack's desk could attest). It was a coup for City South, and Phryne was pleased for Jack.

But perhaps her smile had more to do with the fact that the case _between_ her and the Inspector was developing in a rather pleasing fashion, too.

Phryne never liked to view her past decisions with regret – it was such a dreary, defeatist approach to living. She'd come perilously close to it, though, on that evening when the strains of _La_ _Donna e Mobile_ had taunted her with their irony. But then Jack had come to her door, a newfound assurance in his step, and though she'd tried to contain her elation, tears of utter relief had pricked at her eyes. They'd shared the wine, chatting over anything and everything as they had so many times before. But then Jack had brushed a soft kiss across her cheek on his way out the door, his warm lips lingering a few seconds longer than necessary for a friendly goodbye.

And she'd seen him many times since, so often by his side collecting statements from importers and dockworkers, and helping to interpret the Italian when necessary. There'd been one evening in her parlour, too – an unexpected stream of callers hadn't allowed them to be properly alone, but also hadn't prevented them from exchanging soft glances and a few brief touches. This new… _understanding_ … was as yet undefined ( _not a problem_ ), and certainly not consummated ( _rather a problem_ ), but Phryne found herself eagerly awaiting his next move, as though they themselves were now on that familiar draughts board. And until the game reached its end, she would continue to enjoy the sight of Jack's handsome face gazing back at her, his expressive mouth quirking up in a smile of his own.

Phryne was about to extend an invitation to dinner – she had asked Mr. Butler to prepare some of his most delectable Mediterranean fare, just in case Jack began to hanker for Strano's again – when a sharp, heavy rapping shook the office door. Before Jack could sit up, the door was flung open, and a tall, broad-shouldered man appeared in the doorway.

"Care to explain this, Robinson?" The man's voice was booming, deep and imperious. His icy stare bore down on the Inspector. "Your actions are _inexcusable_!"

Craning her head, Phryne glimpsed a peek of Constable Collins standing behind the man, practically dancing in his distress.

"Sir, I'm so sorry…I asked him to wait!" Hugh blurted out.

Jack slowly placed his glass on the desk and lowered his feet. "Collins, I will take care of this," he said tersely, his jaw clenched in restraint. "Sir, please come in."

The man entered the office, leaving the door open behind him. "You insolent pup," he continued, "you have the effrontery to put your _shoes_ up and pour yourself a _drink_ – "

Phryne began to stand, sounds of protest already slipping out of her mouth. _Jack's shift was finished!_ _Just who did he think he was?_ She knew the Chief Commissioner on sight – _that_ man looked like an indisposed bulldog, and he never failed to glare at her – but this wasn't him. And why was Jack cowering before the man, hanging his head?

" – and you don't even have a glass ready for _me_?" the man finished in one last bellow. The words seemed to reverberate throughout the room.

Phryne's brow furrowed in confusion. _What?_ She glanced back at Jack, and only then realized that he was quaking in silent laughter, not fear. Her eyes swept over the man again. His suit was neat, but he didn't have the bearing of a policeman. Something in the way the thick shock of steel-gray hair curled off his temple, though, sparked a glimmer of recognition. Yes, his face was wider, and the mouth was different, but he could only be –

Jack rose from his chair and rounded his desk. "Father, I hope you haven't cost me another constable," he said with a tremor in his voice, clasping the man's hand warmly.

The man gave a sheepish chuckle, his sternness dissolving instantly as his other hand clapped the Jack on the shoulder.

"Jackie m'boy, I know I shouldn't do that, but I see those young lads and I can't help myself! Do they enter the force at age twelve these days?"

"Thereabout." Jack paused, his eyes shifting towards her. "Um, Father, may I present the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher? Miss Fisher, my father, William Robinson. "

William's mouth opened in surprise then, and a look of chagrin crossed his face as he turned to her and extended his hand. "My dear, I didn't realize Jack had company! I hope you'll forgive an old man his silliness. I suppose I should know better, at my age."

Phryne grinned and grasped the offered hand firmly. "Nonsense! One should never be too old to laugh." She returned William's gaze as he continued to hold her hand for a moment, looking at her well-feathered hat and pearl drop earrings curiously. She didn't mind, fully aware that she wasn't quite the sort of female one usually encountered in a police station.

But as his eyes crinkled kindly at her, a sudden jolt of emotion, at once wistful and surreal, shot through Phryne. Could one actually have an interaction with a father that wasn't tinged with suspicion, or couched in half-truths? Her own father often liked to appear so bluff and genial – Cec and Bert were definitely fooled – but her earliest detective training had been to search out Henry Fisher's ulterior motives. No such secrets seemed to lurk behind William Robinson's handshake, though.

"Do you live in Melbourne, Mr. Robinson?" she asked, gathering her wits again as Jack shut the office door and pulled out another chair. Jack had never mentioned family beyond Rosie and his dear, departed Uncle Ted, but then, she'd recently learned that Jack tended not to mention a number of things.

"All my life, but for these last few months," William answered. "We moved to Canberra, to be nearer to Lois's mother."

"Lois is my father's wife," Jack interjected, taking his father's hat and coat. "They were married at the beginning of the year." He glanced at his father. "Lois is well?"

William lowered himself into the chair and ran his hands over his knees, smoothing out his suit. "Yes, yes, very well. She's looking forward to seeing all of you. Trudy has offered to make dinner – to spare us from Beth's cooking, she says." He smiled at Phryne. "The girls are having their birthday tomorrow, and then Jack's got his race the day after that, so Lois and I traveled down for the week."

"Girls?" Phryne raised a delicate eyebrow at Jack. Was Melbourne brimming with unknown Robinsons?

"My sisters, Trudy and Beth," Jack answered, resuming his seat behind his desk. "They're twins, 11 months younger than me."

"Race?"

What looked suspiciously like a flush colored Jack's lean cheeks. "You needn't concern yourself with that, Miss Fisher."

"Oh, Jack hasn't told you about his racing?" Mr. Robinson said brightly. "He's done quite well for himself. Only fell to second in the final moments last year, to a young bloke half his age."

 _Of course._ Phryne had seen the clues at Queenscliff…strong arms, a lean torso, and astonishingly muscular legs. A man didn't develop those from the occasional pedal around the park. And now the "other matters" that Jack so often had to attend to of a Saturday suddenly became clear.

Phryne was about to ask where the race would be held, when Constable Collins tapped nervously on the door, asking for the Inspector's aid with a matter in the holding cells. Jack seemed rather reluctant to leave, and she noted with amusement the wary looks he shot at her and his father, but she shooed him off with the promise to look after Mr. Robinson.

"I understand you help Jack solve his crimes," William said once they were alone, his smile warm and open.

"And he helps me solve mine!" Phryne looked back over her shoulder as she poured out another whiskey. "But you mustn't believe whatever he says about me. I'm only the _slightest_ bit meddlesome."

Murmuring thanks, William accepted the glass. "Jack doesn't like to speak of his work when he's off-duty. But my wife follows the society pages, and she tells me of your deeds. She likes to look at your pretty frocks, too. She was a dressmaker, you see."

Intrigued, Phryne took her seat again. Could it be that Jack had never mentioned her to his father? Perhaps he had considered it improper, while he had still been married to Rosie, but that had ended some time ago.

William was casting his eye over the paperwork which blanketed Jack's desk. He turned to Phryne and winked. "I probably shouldn't sign his name to any official documents while I'm here, should I?"

"I wouldn't recommend it," she replied, leaning in conspiratorially. "I only did it once, and Jack didn't much care for it." She paused as her curiosity got the better of her. "Are your daughters like him?"

William let out a huff of laughter. "The girls? No, rapscallions, the pair of them. I suppose I'm to blame for that. Beth just twisted her ankle, trying to show her youngest boy the best way to walk across a fence."

"And was young Jack ever such a troublemaker?" Phryne inquired, deciding that she needed make Beth's acquaintance without delay. "He's _terribly_ law-abiding these days."

"No, but he always felt he had to protect the girls, so he'd raise his fists to any lads that would bother them. But then the girls would join in the fray to defend Jack, and Sylvia would end up tending to three split lips."

Phryne ducked her head demurely. "I may have had a split lip or two in my own time, I'm afraid."

"Did you, now?" William nodded his head in approval. "Good for you, my dear. Sylvia liked for the girls to behave like young ladies, but I was always rather glad that they could look after themselves, too." He took a sip of his whiskey. "Trudy was school friends with Rosie, you know, Jack's wife. Or former wife, I suppose you'd say."

"Yes, I've met Rosie." In fact, unbeknownst to Jack, Phryne had set Aunt Prudence on a personal mission to ensure that Rosie suffered no social disgrace because of her father's and Sidney Fletcher's villainy.

"Have you? She's a sweet girl." His face pulled into a grimace. "Can't say I miss George, though."

Phryne chuckled and raised her glass in salute. "A shared sentiment, Mr. Robinson!" Why had Jack kept his father hidden? The man was a delight.

"No," William continued thoughtfully, as though returning to her earlier question, "Jackie is his mother's boy. Sylvia felt things, deeply. Was an evening when Jack and were hitting wickets late, and we managed to trample all over her favorite flowerbed on accident. I was an oaf, and joked about her having put it in a damned inconvenient place. She couldn't bring herself to say a word, but oh, the look she gave me!"

Phryne winced. Yes, she could rather imagine that look. "And how did you extricate yourself from your predicament?"

"Well, I awoke the next morning and went outside, only to find that Jack was already there, trying to repair the bed. He likes to put things to rights."

Yes, he does, Phryne thought, her heart warming. In fact, she couldn't think of another man with greater depths of compassion than Jack Robinson. A tint of pink was still on her cheeks when the Inspector entered his office again, seeming faintly apprehensive at what might have transpired in his absence.

William glanced at Jack's face, then Phryne's. "Miss Fisher, you'll give us the pleasure of your company at dinner tomorrow?" he asked.

Jack opened his mouth, but Phryne cut in first.

"Thank you, I would be delighted!" Her eyes twinkled.

"Why didn't you tell me your father was remarrying, Jack?" Phryne later asked, after William had left to rejoin his wife. She hoisted herself onto the corner of his desk. It was only marginally more comfortable than the chair, but it had a greater proximity to Jack, and she enjoyed watching his nimble hands try to order the chaos before him. "For that matter, why didn't you tell me you had a father? I was beginning to think you had arrived on the force previously assembled, from a kit."

Jack paused in gathering up a sheave of witness statements. "It was shortly after Freddy Ashmead's death. And it was small family gathering, Miss Fisher, not a society event."

"I still would have been honoured to accompany you."

Jack tilted his head. "Well, it's not considerate to upstage the bride, especially when she's 63."

The compliment wasn't lost on Phryne, but she pulled a face at him anyway. "Still."

"My family's from working-class Richmond, Miss Fisher – why the interest?"

"And my family's from drunken-class Collingwood, Jack! If anything, you're two tiers above me."

Jack placed the papers down at that, and reclined in his chair to look up at her. A thrill tingled up the back of Phryne's neck as he even crossed his legs and folded his hands across his chest, as though he had all the time in the world to drink in her appearance. She'd dressed with care today, wearing a brilliantly blue velvet coat that she knew turned her eyes to sapphires. She watched his eyes drift down from her hat to her lacquered lips, and then flit briefly across the neckline of her gauzy blouse, which she had chosen on purpose, knowing it dipped a little lower than her usual daywear.

"Collingwood was a long time ago," Jack replied at length, his voice a low rumble.

"It doesn't always feel that way."

Phryne had been toying with the idea of visiting her old street, and of asking Jack if he might accompany her. After all this time in Melbourne, she finally felt that she might have the strength to confront the place. There might even be some enjoyment in showing Jack her old haunts, where as a messy-haired urchin she'd known every loose fence slat and grubby hiding corner. Perhaps they'd even find the old bathtub where she and Janey had sailed and conquered the Seven Seas.

Jack's voice broke into her musings. "And besides," he murmured, resuming his shuffling, "I already had an escort to the wedding."

Phyrne's eyes shot open in disbelief. _Another one?_ She was still rather incredulous, and even a little impressed, that Jack had kept someone as lovely as Concetta Fabrizzi concealed for so long. Not that Jack wasn't free to keep company with an entire _harem_ of women, should he choose, but still…

"Well, I hope she was charming company," Phryne replied _,_ with all the magnanimity she could muster.

" _Very_ charming," Jack affirmed. "Blond curls, brown eyes," – a slight quiver shook his voice as he saw her expression – "and a missing front tooth, as she's six years old. My niece, Dora."

 _Touché._

"And why haven't you told me about your races?"

"So you could wait at the finish line with banner flying? No, thank you."

Phryne pursed her lips pensively. "I was envisioning more of a brass quintet."

"Exactly."

"But it's clearly important to you – did you think I would tease?"

Jack fell silent, and set the papers aside. He reached for his glass, which had a few drops of whiskey left, and circled his fingers idly around the rim. When at last he spoke, his words were directed at the desk.

"Cycling was…a thorny subject, for a time. After I returned from the war, I'd often just get on my bicycle and ride. I'd ride until I couldn't feel anything except the fire in my lungs, and my legs wouldn't move any further. I'd find a tree then and lay out a blanket, and just…lie and listen. To the birds, the wind, whatever there was."

"Oh, Jack…"

"I could never do that in France, you know?" He looked up at her then, speaking more quickly, with an unfamiliar but not unwelcome candour. "We were always on the knife's edge, expecting the silence to be broken at any moment by gunfire, grenades. So I would ride off and just lie there for an hour or two, then pedal back. It was selfish of me to be gone all day – I was useless to Rosie like that – but it did help me."

Phryne nodded and reached out to trace her fingers across the back of his hand briefly. _She_ had always sought to dull the memories of war in gaiety, in movement and voices. Jack had done so in silence and solitude, but it was all to the same purpose, and perhaps they both did a little better when they met somewhere in the middle.

She couldn't resist one last question.

"Is your reluctance to introduce me to your sisters due to the, um, nature of my reputation?" It wasn't accusatory, but she was curious to know the extent of Jack's liberal-mindedness.

"Your rep – ? Jack's eyes softened as understanding dawned. " _No_ , Phryne…"

He shook his head and gave a short, wry laugh. "If anything, I'm afraid you'll all get on like a house on fire, and within ten minutes you'll be showing them the finer points of the Hispano, and they'll be telling you every embarrassing anecdote of my boyhood."

"Such as?"

"Such as the time I followed the girls over a fence and a stray nail tore out the entire seat of my trousers."

Phryne quickly raised a hand to her mouth, but she couldn't keep a very unladylike snort from escaping.

Jack let out a weary sigh. "You see?"

The next evening, Jack's motorcar pulled up to a row of neat bungalows in Carlton. He turned off the engine, and angled his body to face Phryne. Over his shoulder, she caught a glimpse of a woman peering through the curtains on the other side of the street – a flash of wild, honey-blonde curls and an impish smile.

"I should have told you about my family," Jack began slowly. He lightly draped one of his hands over hers, where it lay on the seat. "And I should have told them more about you. But after the mess I made of things with Rosie, the last thing I wanted was earnest inquiries after the state of my heart. I simply wanted to enjoy our…our association. Our friendship."

Phryne tried not to shiver as his thumb stroked across her wrist. "And how is your heart these days?" she asked softly.

A corner of Jack's mouth turned upwards. "Still ticking." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Miss Fisher, those things I care about most deeply, I – I tend to keep close. Think on that, will you?"

Phryne nodded slowly. She would think on that. She'd also do her best to find out the time and location of his cycling race within the next five minutes. With a smile, she picked up her handbag.

"Once more unto the breach, Jack?"

The Inspector took a deep breath, and opened his door.

 _Author's Note: I like to think that for Jack to appreciate a strong, modern woman as well as he does, he must have meaningful relationships with other such women in his life. I also wrote this in the middle of a big Foyle's War rewatch, in which I realized I'd forgotten what a hoot Honeysuckle Weeks is as Samantha Stewart. Somehow, Jack's sisters morphed into two variations of Sam. Just think of the epic eyerolls he'd give!_


End file.
